A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

That night, camp was a place of raucous cheer. From the lowest page all the way to Eddard Stark, all knew that what they had done that day would be told and retold in songs for years to come, the day that two and a half thousand men brought down a host of thirteen thousand, fought four battles in a day, and foiled the White Bull’s gambit, making safe the Riverlands.

Some, though, were more raucous than others.

“NED!”

“Robert.”

“NED!!”

Earlier, the Stormlord had ridden to his friend almost before the enemy could finish surrendering, cutting right across what was to be the battlefield and past the site of Steve’s duel with the young Whent. The initial reunion had been brief, hastened by the need to police the foe - surrendering as per the terms of the duel - and Ned’s duties had kept him busy for hours more. Now though, he was free, free to arrive sober to a party well underway.

“You can put me down now, Robert.”

Robert set his friend down, still beaming and ruddy cheeked. “Your man has been telling me all about the war - what’s this ‘Cold Wolf’ business, eh? Don’t they know you at all!?”

“I haven’t given it much mind,” Ned said, accepting the tankard that was thrust into his hand.

There was no tent large enough to hold every man with the status to attend such a gathering, and so they held it under the stars, a bonfire roaring in the middle of it all. It stood tall and made long shadows of the lords and knights who drank and ate around it, treating cheap wine and marching rations like they were fresh from a king’s kitchens. It would burn for hours yet; the hands of their many prisoners made light work of gathering wood and water.

“Too busy putting paid to Hightower’s schemes, so I hear,” Robert said.

“I have done my part,” Ned said.

Robert gave him a look of disdain, as if he couldn’t believe what was coming out of his friend’s mouth. He received a mild look in turn, quietly challenging. The stag lord’s gaze narrowed, and he lifted his tankard to his mouth, holding it just short. Ned matched him, waiting.

At some unseen signal, both men tipped their tankards back, racing to the bottom. Robert took huge quaffs, some spilling over his cheeks, but Ned left him in the dust. The northman seemingly poured his drink straight down his throat, head tilted back in one smooth motion, before he righted himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched as Robert finished, froth on his cheeks.

“I’ll get you one day,” the bigger man grumbled.

“But not today,” Ned said, before his eyes grew sly. “Or tomorrow.”

Steve shook his head and looked away as the two bickered and caught up, refreshing their friendship after months apart. There was no cluster of men around them or retinue waiting on their words, not that night, leaving them as just two more men happy to have lived through the day amongst a crowd of others. There didn’t seem to be any others that shared the same kind of long friendship that they did, but nor did anyone let that stop them from engaging in boasting and banter as they drank. He had already heard a stormlord drunkenly teaching ‘Rebel Yell’ to a northman, and the small group around them was threatening to break into song at any moment.

Still, if they were singing that just meant they weren’t asking him for any of the rhymes he had made up for Peake. “Regretting it yet?” Steve asked the person sitting beside him. “I know how much you like parties.”

Keladry shook her head, shifting slightly in an attempt to make the log that was their seat more comfortable. “Naerys was insistent,” she said. As was her habit, she kept on her gambeson to obscure her form, but she was hardly out of place at the moment.

“She was worried?” Steve asked, misliking the thought. She had never feared over his fights before, but if he had done something to make her fret…

“That you might take it in your head to fight an army alone, perhaps,” Keladry said.

“I would nev- well,” Steve said, reconsidering. “That might be fair.”

“Henry and his squad have all in hand, back with the army,” Keladry added. “They will be in no danger, even with my absence.”

Steve shook his head. “If one of us needed to be there to make sure our people weren’t in danger, we wouldn’t be there at all.”

“I think the message has been sent, in any case.”

A blink-and-you-miss-it smirk crossed Steve’s face, but it was completely devoid of humour. “Yeah.”

“The tale will spread,” Keladry said, glancing away from the fire to look at her lord. “When we link up with the rest of the rebels, you will not have to make another example.”

Steve nodded, giving a hum of assent, but his mouth twisted. He wasn’t completely convinced; there was always a bigger idiot. “Still,” he said, “you don’t have to be here.” Nearby, an arm wrestling contest had started, both men balancing their drinks on their heads.

“It is no trouble,” Keladry said.

“We met a year ago,” Steve said, giving her a dry look, “and in all that time you haven’t attended a single party you had a choice in.”

“This time is different.”

“How?”

“If someone approaches, I only have to point them at you,” Keladry said, unbothered.

“Didn’t we already have this song and dance?” Steve asked, brow rising.

Kel’s lips twitched upwards. “Aye, but this time I was only another rider, while you arrived at a key moment to secure victory, and then defeated five thousand men with a single duel.”

Steve grumbled, but didn’t argue, knowing she was right. His shoulders hunched down and he buried his face in his empty drink. For a time, they simply sat and watched the party going on around them, talking of matters better suited for work than for celebration, but that suited them just fine. Steve heard of Osric’s continuing progress with his spear, and spoke of how Humfrey had taken to his lessons with the impressive axe he had been gifted at Mastford.

The night was almost on the verge of a slow wind down when Keladry suddenly grew tense.

“What is it?” Steve asked, casting his gaze around. He heard no shout of alarm, and there was no sign of trouble at any of the other fires or celebrations he could see nearby for the more common men.

For a long moment, Keladry didn’t speak, though her back had gone stiff as a board, and her few signs of good cheer had disappeared back behind her imperturbable mask. “Across the fire, behind Ser Connington.”

Casually, Steve glanced over. The fire had burned down some, not quite as tall as it was, and he saw Ronald sitting on another log with some friends, swaying drunkenly. Behind them, though, were a trio of men, faces illuminated by the firelight.

“Which one?” Steve asked, his tankard held ready. He could brain him with ease if necessary. “Immediate threat?”

“No,” Keladry said. She was staring into the fire, still tense. “The one in the middle is Joren.” Were she anyone else, she would be grimacing. “Lord Burchard. My betrothed.”

X

“It’ll be a mite easier to keep my army fed now that we can count on friendly lords.”

Steve’s gaze was distant as he thought, fingers threaded over his lap. They had lost a day to recovery after the mammoth effort required to win the four battles, and then another as they waited for the Stormland army to catch up to help police the thousands of prisoners they had taken.

“I’ve sent word. A raven back to Darry to contact nearby lords, and a rider to meet Brandon on his ride south.”

Military matters were a secondary concern to him, though. He had used the time to suss out Joren Burchard, and those he kept company with. He had chatted with nobles, Lyanna had gossiped with servants, and Walt had nosed around household soldiers. What little they found did not set his mind at ease.

“...about the noble prisoners? We have their parole, and there’s naught by stumps left of the heart trees down…”

Joren was still unmarried, despite news of his once-betrothed being taken by mountain clansmen almost two years ago. Another Valeman had been happy to recount the rumour of souring relations between the Burchards and the Delnaimns, first over the accusations of a failure to properly man her escort, and then over allegations that the ambush was all a plot to renege on the betrothal agreement, and that they had hidden their daughter away.

“...given the Prince’s claim, I think it prudent to hold off on my father’s…”

Worse was gossip over how, early in the war, Delnaimn forces had almost been mistakenly ambushed as loyalists. No one was quite sure how word had spread that the force marching to join the rebel cause was instead a royalist band, but those who spoke on it all agreed that it was a good thing for Denys Arryn and his sharp mind for sorting it out before the worst could happen.

“...doesn’t matter. What about…could march east, and…right in the arse!”

The worst of it all though, to Steve’s mind at least, had come from the celebration at the fire. As Steve had watched Burchard and his pals from the corner of his eye, the handsome young lord had looked very deliberately at Keladry, as if marking her in his mind’s eye, and then away. He could feel in his gut that Burchard knew exactly who his second was, and that there was some plan ticking away.

“...while we don’t know…a risk…better to…”

Steve felt a frown forming. He didn’t know the man. Didn’t know what he was like, or what his plan might involve…but he knew what had happened on Kel’s journey to marry him, and he knew he didn’t give a fig for the whole idea of arranged marriages, especially when the woman involved didn’t want it. The fact that he was still unmarried just made him all the more wary, even if they hadn’t noticed him or his so much as sniffing in their direction since the night at the fire. Especially since they hadn’t.

“...think, Steve? … Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve said, jerked back to the present. “What was that?”

The dozen or so faces in the tent were turned towards him, waiting on his response to whatever he had been asked. It was the third day since the battles, and they were finally ready to march out in truth, save for a few final details. Those with the stature to be deciding those details had gathered around a table, and Steve had been summoned from a round table of his own to join them.

“Robert suggests we march east, instead of north,” Ned said again, patient.

“Success would bring an end to the raiding and the back and forth,” Kyle said, cautiously optimistic. He still bore a vibrant purple bruise on one cheek, picked up during the second battle.

“It would,” Steve said. He called to mind the map he had memorised at Storm’s End; if they marched east and then north they could cut Harrenhal’s supply lines, and close a noose around the castle. With the numbers he had heard tossed around spent on raids, and now the thirteen thousand men lost to the failed chevauchée, there could not be that many left to defend the stronghold, even if the enemy general had been making heavy use of mercenaries. He would not bet on Hightower staying in place if given the choice. But even so, it came with unnecessary risks. “But unless you’ve got spies in the Crownlands it’s an awful risk. Peake’s army was forced to break up, but that was a month ago. If they made for the capital to regroup…”

“...we’d be the ones with an army up our arse instead,” Robert said, almost gloomy, but then his features twisted, a hint of rage coming to them. “Nine fucking months. Every time we are delayed, Lyanna-”

“Lyanna will be rescued,” Ned said, tone flat. “Aerys will suffer the consequences of his actions.”

There was a pause, and Robert subsided, though his fists clenched under the table.

“If we needed to make the gamble, we could,” Brynden said. He was carving slices from an apple, eating it slowly. “But we do not. Once we march south, we won’t be stopped, but if we march east and are caught out, it will be a greater delay than joining the others.”

“We don’t need to march the army in,” Greatjon said. “Give me a few hundred, and I could make a right mess of the place. See how they like being on the other side of the raiding.”

Steve glanced at the big man, his eyes tightening. He didn’t think Greatjon’s idea of raiding was as clinical as his own.

“Harrenhal is not a simple castle to supply,” Roose said, voice quiet as ever. “Forcing a response would mean a raid prevented.”

“The benefits would not be worth your loss,” Ned said to Greatjon. “We will march north, and rejoin the bulk of our forces.” He glanced at Robert. “By Lord Baratheon’s command, of course.”

Robert snorted at that. “This is your hunting ground, Ned. My army will follow your lead until you sniff us out another battle. Or four. Heh.”

“We will follow the lakeshore then,” Ned said, nodding his thanks to his friend. “We will be in a position to threaten Harrenhal within the month.”

“And what about…?” Steve prompted, looking to Robert. Every time their scouts had reported a need to change their course for some reason or another since Mastford, he had asked the same question.

From others there was confusion, but Robert understood. Sympathy spread across his face. “I’m sorry, Steve. There are no castles in our path.”

Still some of those present did not understand, but now Beron and Samuel found themselves amused.

“What about within a day’s ride?” Steve asked, not quite desperate. “There’s a family that sided with the monarchy nearby, right? The Goodbrooks? If we took it, they could host us for a night in apology.”

Perhaps his desperation was not as hidden as he had thought, for now Robert’s lips were twitching.

“What is this about?” Ryswell asked quietly of Beron, though not quiet enough to avoid Steve’s ears.

Beron shook his head, pointedly looking up at the tent ceiling.

“Two days, and then a prick of a fight to crack them,” Brynden said. He seemed to have cottoned on to Steve’s motivation, and he looked like he was caught between amusement and exasperation.

Steve would crack them himself if it came down to it, but after a moment he sighed. It seemed like it wasn’t to be.

“I could lend you my tent?” Robert offered. “Gods know I owe you. It’s no castle, but it’s still plenty fancy.”

“I appreciate it, but…it’s not the same,” Steve said. He shook his head. They would just have to grin and bear it, even if their willpower had been sorely tested.

“I’m sorry, but what…?” Dustin asked of the tent, looking around at his fellow lords. “I feel that I am missing something.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve said, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled. Leaving the army to take a castle and spend the night in relative luxury wouldn’t be appropriate, not while everyone else still lived on the march, but maybe he could engineer something…no, he was being foolish.

There was little else left to cover, and the meeting soon came to an end. Robert clapped him on the shoulder with a look of deep sympathy as he left, already putting his head together with Ned. Brynden followed him, shaking his head, and Beron spared him a look as he went too. Steve couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. At least none of them were gossips, even if he really was making a mess of it all. He steeled himself, putting all less-than-virtuous thoughts of Naerys from his head, and followed after them, leaving the tent for the servants to break down.

Nat would have gotten a kick out of all this, he was sure.

X

The breeze that swept over them off the lake kept the army cool on the march, and the ready access to water eased at least at least one supply concern. Riders roamed westward to address another, but that was work for outriders and knights, not lords, and Steve found himself riding Brooklyn as midday was left behind.

The ride was made perhaps not easier, but more interesting, by the fruits that had come from the mixing of men with a penchant for trouble and some small musical talent. Someone - Steve wasn’t going to point fingers, but he was pretty sure they answered to Willem and Yorick - had not only found their co conspirators in Robert’s marching song, but had also connected them with some Northmen of like minds.

“Lame old dragon why weren’t you told,

Northerners are mighty bold,

What’s the time?

Wolf time!

What’s the time?

Howlin’ time!

We’re a comin’ we’re a marchin’ we’re a headed down south,

Gonna piss straight down Old Aerys’ mouth,

What’s the time?

Wolf time!

What’s the time?

Runnin’ time!

Scab King Aerys is a son of a bitch,

Got the Oldtown pox and the Blue Lys Itch,

What’s the time?

Wolf time!

What’s the time?

Huntin’ time!

We’ll put him on a pike and say listen to me,

Your blood gonna water my new heart tree.

What’s the time?

Wolf time!

What’s the time?

Killin’ time!

Mad King Aerys we’re comin’ for you,

You’ll hang from the tree by the time we’re through.”

Their efforts seemed to be a hit, going by how quickly it had spread through the men regardless of kingdom. Dodger let out an approving howl as they finished the song - for the fifth time so far - from his position seated on Brooklyn’s rump.

Another horseman drew his mount alongside Steve as the howl faded and the song started up again. “Didn’t have anything like this in the Stepstones,” Walt said, chewing on some jerky.

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “I’d have thought soldiers would be quick to this sort of mischief.”

“We had songs, aye,” Walt said, “but nothing quite like this.” ‘Piss straight down’ he mouthed to himself.

Steve huffed a laugh, but then grew more serious. “What’s the word?”

Walt bit savagely through his snack. “Still little,” he said, “but it’s there. Someone heard a Vale knight swear by the Seven that the youngest of the Delnaimn brood was a girl, but no one could tell me his name.”

“You didn’t cut anyone’s ear off over it, did you?” Steve asked, only half joking.

“Might do, if this keeps up,” Walt said. The look on his face said there was no ‘might’ about it.

Steve didn’t call him on it. The whispers were small things, never spoken openly or turned into accusations, but they were there all the same. They were not something that Steve could address, not without giving legitimacy to them, but if anything that just made him more annoyed with it all. Maybe he’d been spoiled by the idea that punching a punk in the face was a respected way of solving disagreements here.

“Keep an ear to the ground,” Steve said at length. About the only benefit to it all was that it was distracting him and Naerys from each other.

Walt gave a grunt, but then he did something unusual. He opened his mouth, only to hesitate, closing it.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” Steve said. “Speak your mind.”

The old soldier glanced around them, disguising the action by leaning forward to rub at his mount’s ears. For all that they were part of the column, there was no one close enough to overhear them. “What’re you going to do if the whispers don’t stay whispers?”

Steve levelled his gaze at his third in command. As far as he was aware, Kel had never confided in him, nor had Naerys or the kids slipped up. “I thought how things at Harrenhal went down would’ve taught people better. If it hasn’t, I figure we’ll just settle things for sure,” he said, leaving his words open ended.

“Every man who’s fought with you knows you won’t have Keladry whip his cock out, just for the principle of it,” Walt said, chewing on the inside of his scarred cheek. “But what’re you gonna do if the whispers grow and that’s the only answer they’ll take?”

But then, the man had travelled with them for nine months, and for all his coarseness, Walt was no fool. “That’s up to Keladry, in the end,” Steve said, answering the unspoken question, “but I’ve had pretty good luck punching the stupid out of people before. Might give that another go.”

Walt gave a nod, satisfied. “Don’t strike me as a smart thing for them to push, given what you’ve done, but I’ll keep an ear out. Little Hood will do the same.”

“That’s all I ask,” Steve said. “You’re a good man, Walt.”

A scoff was his answer. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have me lugging this damn thing around,” Walt said, slapping the sheath that hung from his hip.

“I’m told it’s a great honour,” Steve said, the picture of innocence.

“Fuck off,” Walt said, almost groaning. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Steve said, “but consider this: some hoity toity noble is going to cause trouble, and you’re going to pull out a Valyrian steel sword in response. Picture their face when they see it.”

The old soldier was still scowling, but then Steve’s words began to filter in. An almost dreamlike expression stole across his face, before he remembered he was supposed to be unhappy. “I still don’t like it.”

“It won’t be forever,” Steve said, more serious now. “I’ve got plans for the steel. I just don’t trust no one to make a try for it if I leave it sitting around.”

“Because I’ll make the fool big enough to try hesitate,” Walt said.

“Think of it like permission to cut someone’s ear off,” Steve said. “The way people here act about it, someone is bound to try eventually.”

“Heh.”

Steve shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t be encouraging the man, but he prided himself on keeping his men in high spirits. He was sure it’d be fine.

X

The march north continued, and so did the whispers, but they found no purchase, not in the face of Lord America’s spreading deeds and growing legend. It took them the better part of a day to cross one of the major feeder rivers to the Gods Eye lake, and it was judged smarter to make camp early rather than push on. Steve had thoughts of organising some games and leisure time for his men, but before he could put thought to action, a messenger arrived for him, summoning him to Ned’s tent. A party of riders had arrived, and he was called to Lord Eddard’s personal tent to hear what word they had brought.

Steve was quick to attend, wary of ill news, but when he arrived the mood was not one of worry, but of longsuffering, at least on the part of the host. To his surprise he recognised the two men responsible, newly arrived: Brandon Stark, and his squire whom he had met at Riverrun, Ethan Glover.

“Steve!” Brandon said, rising from his chair at a writing desk to greet him.

“Brandon,” Steve said, accepting the offered clasp of his hand. “I heard you were well.” And he had - there were many eager to share the exploits of their overlords, even if he could tell there was something that was being glossed over or left out. “Ethan.”

“Lord America,” Ethan said, from his position standing by the tent wall. His beard had grown in better since the weddings, and a scar on his brow made him look older.

“Been a minute since Gulltown,” Steve said. “What brings you here?”

“Ned sent word that he took all the glory that was to be had, so I sent my men back north,” Brandon said, taking his seat again. “But I received another message, one addressed to Ned.” He gestured to a small roll of parchment that Ned held, not yet opened, as his younger brother sat on his bed.

“You could have just read it if you really needed to know, brother,” Ned said, reproachful.

“And deprive you of my company?” Brandon asked. “Besides, I think it’s from-”

Another man entered the tent, his size doing little to help the growing sense of smallness to it.

“Brandon!” Robert said. “You raze Harrenhal yet, or are you being lazy?” He took one big step across the tent to clap his arm. “What brings you?”

“I knew you’d complain if I did it without you,” Brandon said, grinning. “And I brought Ned a message from his wife.”

Ned sharpened, the conversation suddenly less interesting than the message he held. “How do you know?” He started to untie the twine keeping it rolled..

“Who else would send you a raven from Winterfell with a perfumed message?” Brandon asked with a shrug. Despite his easy words, his gaze was fixed on his brother, eager to discover the contents of the message.

“Ned and his Dornish beauty, I still can’t believe…,” Robert said, before he began to frown. “What is it?”

Ned’s jaw had gone slack as he stared at the parchment, almost unseeing.

“Ned?” Brandon asked, wary.

The kid looked up, blinking as his mind was brought back from wherever it had wandered off to. “Twins,” he said.

“What?”

“Twins,” he said again, struggling to find words. “Ashara, twins.”

A grin lit up Robert’s face. “Twins! Gods, Ned! Twins!”

“Twins,” Ned said, staring blankly at the letter.

“Twins?” Brandon asked, blinking.

Ethan’s head was ping ponging between each speaker.

“Twins!” Robert agreed, voice boisterous. He almost bouncing around the small room, a moment from striding right through the canvas walls in his enthusiasm. “Ashara gave birth to two healthy - what are they, Ned?”

“Arya and Alistair,” Ned said. “We picked names for both, so she just - twins.” It was well that he was seated, for it seemed unlikely that his legs would support him at that moment.

“Arya and Alistair Stark,” Brandon said. “A niece and nephew! We have to tell Father; this will restore him. Hopefully Arya has Ashara’s looks and not your horse’s ass.”

“We are brothers,” Ned said, the jab penetrating the fog that held him.

“And yet,” Brandon said, smirking at him, before it shifted back into a happy grin. “Gods. Twins!”

“Congratulations,” Steve said, watching it all with a smile. It was always nice to see a spot of happiness amongst otherwise grim circumstance.

“I, thank you,” Ned said, the news really starting to sink in. “They were - oh.”

“Come on, tell us,” Brandon urged him.

“They were premature, and Ashara held off on sending word, in case…” Ned said, slowly reading the tightly packed writing on the scroll.

“But they are well now, for her to send the message?” Brandon pressed.

“They are well,” Ned said. He blinked rapidly. “Mother met them.”

“Mother?” Brandon said, the word slowing him for a moment. “She - she knew her grandchildren, before she passed?”

“Aye.”

“...good.”

There was a moment of quiet as the brothers absorbed the information. It did not last.

“You know what this means, aye?” Robert asked, looking from brother to brother. Both stared blankly at him, still rocked by the news.

“What does it mean?” Ethan asked for them.

“We must celebrate!” Robert said, fairly booming. “Celebrate the birth of Arya and Alistair Stark!”

“With what?” Ned asked. “We used the best of our supplies after the battles.”

Steve saw his chance and seized it. “A small group could make a detour as the army continues north,” he said, “and prevail upon the closest lord for an evening to celebrate.”

“The closest is still Goodbrook Keep, and they’ll be buttoned up tight,” Robert said, frowning, though he didn’t dismiss it out of hand.

“I can take care of that,” Steve said swiftly.

“With your hundred alone?” Ned asked. “It is no Winterfell, but it has seen many wars.”

“Sure, they can help,” Steve said. “Yeah. Quick ride there, stay the night, rejoin the army the next day.” He nodded to himself, ignoring Robert’s sudden snort as he realised something. Fraying willpower on both his and Naerys’ parts had seen them no longer sharing a bedroll, and if they had to wait until they reached some castle north of Harrenhal, he wasn’t sure they’d make it if they didn’t stop sharing a tent as well. Much as they both desired each other, neither wanted to take that step in a thin tent on the march in the middle of the camp.

“I see no problem with it,” Brandon said, looking to the others. “Two new Starks deserve a celebration.”

“Aye, let’s do it,” Robert said.

If the agreement had the air of a group of teenagers making a decision because there was no one more mature around to tell them otherwise, none commented. Steve certainly wasn’t going to.

Robert wasn’t done. “Very kind of you, Steve, to make the offer. Real, uh, selfless.”

“I’ll ride out first thing tomorrow,” Steve said, ignoring the comment. “Excuse me, I’m going to tell my quartermaster, have them make the needed preparations. Congratulations again, Ned.” He ducked out, leaving them behind.

“Preparations?” Brandon asked. “It’s only a day’s…”

His voice faded as Steve strode away, mind on more important matters. He had a spring in his step.

X

Goodbrook Keep was oddly tall, like someone had taken a normal square keep and stretched it upwards. Even the stone towers at each corner seemed taller than was normal. Situated on a hill by a river, there was little cover on any approach, only fields filled with grass and fodder crops. A moat had been dug around the hill, and it was currently flowing, the river used to keep it full. Where the river sloshed and flowed into the moat, Steve could catch the occasional glimpse of stakes hidden by the water.

There were men on the walls, and by the movement their approach had been seen, riding up in the early afternoon as they had. There was little helping that given the time constraints he was under. Ned and those he had invited to celebrate would only be an hour or three behind him.

“Not the easiest nut to crack,” Walt said, standing at his side.

“They seem pretty happy to sit tight,” Steve said, agreeing. The crenellations jutted forward from the wall by a good metre, curved stone below interrupting an otherwise flat wall.

“They likely could have sat out the war, if not for you,” Keladry said, standing at the other. “Is that smoke coming from above the gatehouse?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, mouth twisting. “They’re cooking something up. Water, or sand maybe.”

Behind his back, the two shared a glance. Walt raised his brows pointedly, but Kel only returned a deliberately blank look. The old soldier pulled a face, but gave in.

“I know you’ve got your reason for this,” Walt said, “but you sure this is worth the injuries we’ll pick up on the way?”

“No one’s getting injured,” Steve said, still scanning the keep. “None of ours, anyway.” He caught a glimpse of the tops of bow limbs passing briefly between two merlons, though they didn’t reappear. He fixed the spot in his mind as a likely position of an internal staircase.

“You’ve got a plan then?” Walt pressed.

“Yeah,” Steve said, eyeing the gate. The drawbridge was raised, and its underside had some metal cladding, but it was more a lattice than a full covering. The gatehouse above it was fat and squat, murder holes dotted along it in two levels. They were just large enough to make use of, and from there he could reach the roof… “I need ten spears.”

“Spears? Not javelins?” Keladry checked.

Steve nodded. “Javelins won’t hold the weight.” It might’ve been a smarter move to wear his suit rather than his plate, but he was still leery of exposing the suit to wear and tear when he didn’t have to. The day would come where he would need it, but it wasn’t today.

Walt and Keladry shared another look. This time Walt won out.

“What orders do you have for us?” Keladry asked. Her fingers drummed on the haft of her glaive where she gripped it.

“Just have the troops ready to police their surrender after I let you in,” Steve said. He reached for his hammer, taking it from its harness. “Here, hold on to this for a moment.”

Keladry took the hammer, swinging it up to rest on her shoulder with one hand and a grunt.

“Why not leave your shield, too?” Walt asked, voice dry. “Really impress the lads.”

“I can’t be expected to capture a castle without my shield,” Steve said, a feigned injury to his voice that fooled neither of them. “That’s asking a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Ugh.”

A distant horse whinnied as they continued to survey the target, and there was quiet for a moment.

At length, Keladry spoke. “Are you sure?” she asked. “To take it alone…”

Steve glanced at her; her face was calm, but her hold on her glaive was tight. Of all his companions, she was probably the one who had the best idea of just how unnatural his strength was. The others had an inkling, had witnessed him do things beyond most men, but none had fought beside him as she had, or had the same understanding of their own limits. “I want the castle,” he said, “but it isn’t a military objective, and I’m not going to risk lives getting it. Even if that means showing off a bit.”

Walt hadn’t fought on the bridge, but he had stalked enemy scouts with him and had front row seats to his bootcamp. He knew enough to twig to what they meant. “The men won’t blab if you say so,” he said. “Whatever it is you’ve got-” he cut himself off, grimacing. “They’d charge a dragon for you, and knowing- it won’t change that.”

“There will come a time where I can’t afford to hold back,” Steve said. He raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not worried about the reaction of anyone who matters.”

“People don’t react well to things they judge unnatural,” Keladry said, and there was a tone to her words that spoke of anger at a past injustice.

“Other folk like as not think we’re just boasting of you again, exaggeratin’,” Walt said, almost muttering.

“There is that,” Steve acknowledged to both of them. “But people can also surprise you.”

Keladry snorted, a mirthless thing full of denial and disgust. So uncharacteristic of her was it that both men found themselves looking to her in surprise. “I think your home was very different to Westeros,” she said.

“It could be,” Steve said. “But people are still people.”

The hidden woman made a sound in her throat that spoke of both acknowledgment and disagreement, and Steve held back a frown. He hadn’t realised that she was so pessimistic over her situation - he had thought she was more hopeful. He would have to find the time to speak with her.

“Given the campaign so far,” Steve said carefully, “I think the men will be able to look back and let past events colour their perceptions of any shocks.” When they had that talk, he’d have to let Kel know that Walt had guessed her secret; maybe it would help. “Even back during training, with the tug of war, I wasn’t exactly hiding what I can do,” he added.

“As you say,” Keladry said. She nodded towards the castle that was still hurriedly preparing for their coming. “When do you mean to attack?”

Steve accepted the redirection. “As soon as I borrow some spears.” He readied his shield, looking over the jagged edge that was once more exposed. Peake’s gambit had ruined the covering, and it would have been more trouble than it was worth to replace it on the march. Maybe the castle would have a smith capable.

A sigh came from the old soldier to his side. “Let’s make it happen then,” Walt said. “I’m about out of Arbor.” He stalked off, heading towards the bulk of their men where they stood in ranks.

When he was out of earshot, Steve turned to his friend. “Kel,” he said.

“I know, Steve,” she said, still watching the castle. “It is just…not easy.”

“Things worth doing never are,” he said. “Whatever you decide, you know I’ll back you.”

“I know,” she said again. “But seeing Joren, hearing the rumours…”

“Not easy,” Steve said. “Yeah. But just remember one thing.”

“What is that?” Keladry asked, turning to him. She was guarded, warned by something in his tone.

“If worst comes to worst, you can always just prove you have a bigger dick than him,” he said, waggling his brows with an eye to her glaive.

Keladry let out a sigh, her poker face not enough to completely hide her moment of exasperation. “Captain. Go and take the castle.”

“Yes ser,” Steve said, his cheek worn plainly, and she could not help but make a sound of disgust.

When Walt returned with the spears, it was to see a greatly amused Steve and a completely blank Keladry. He shook his head at them. “Go on then. Can’t be standing around here all day.”

Steve tucked the spears under one arm, and advanced alone towards Goodbrook Keep. He had a date night to make happen.